


Night of the Loving Dummy

by HenriettaDarlington



Category: Goosebumps - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Verbal Abuse, puppet hand-jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenriettaDarlington/pseuds/HenriettaDarlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A professional ventriloquist deals with their rude boss</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Veronica Chaos eat your heart out.

Running an evil empire and plotting to overthrow even the smallest of small towns was actually a ton of work. A ton of work that megalomaniacal monsters weren’t willing to do. They just were too busy cursing tweens and ruining everything to bother with the day to day stuff.

Unfortunately, someone had to do it and you were the only person there who who wasn’t a megalomaniacal monster.

So there you were, once again trying to keep the Creeps from spray-painting bizarre anti-human signs onto your garage door when you heard yourself being paged.

“Slave, get in here!”

Tossing the paint cans into the bushes and hoping the Creeps wouldn’t care enough to look, you dashed off to heed your master’s call.

Your master, Slappy the Ventriloquist Dummy. He was the rudest possessed doll this side of the Child’s Play franchise. Ever since you accidently signed your soul over to him during an embarrassing string of miscommunications on FetLife.Com you’d been taking orders from the pint-sized puppet. Most of the time it wasn’t that bad, even if he had a tendency to give conflicting orders just to laugh at you when you failed.

You managed to only trip over yourself once as you raced to the room now serving as Slappy’s office. It used to be your bedroom. “You called, boss?”

There he was, sitting in the wingback chair you single-handedly dragged up the stairs for him. Technically an immortal evil, he had the body of a ventriloquist doll and the attitude of a really rude Step-Dad. Working as his subservient slave wasn’t really what you planned to do with your life, but honestly it was an okay gig. Who else could say that their lives were literally magical?

“It took you long enough! Did you forget how to walk or are you just intent on wasting everyone’s time, like usual?”

“I got here as fast as I could.” You shrugged, it’s not like you didn’t always come running when he called.

“Well then maybe you need to work out, because I’ve gotten better reaction time from a brick wall.”  For Slappy, berating you was like saying hello. Once the formalities were out of the way he got onto business, “I hope you finished everything, because I have a job for you.”

Maybe if you do well enough he’d pat your head again like last time, you had always been a sucker for validation, “Yes, sir?”

“I plan on going to taunt Stine in person tomorrow, probably cut his brake lines, the usual.” He explained. You already vaguely knew about that plan. One of your jobs to go be arm candy whenever Slappy needed to threaten a guy. “I need you to polish me. I should be so shiny you can see your reflection in my hair.”

Beaming bright you nodded, “Yes, sir!”

That was your favorite job around here. You got to lounge around listening to Slappy insult everyone else for once, with only mild manual labour. Also the buzz you got off wood polish fumes was awesome.

So you gathered the supplies, sat down on the unfortunate remnants of your bed, and got to work.

It was soothing as far as manual work went, buffing circles on your masters smooth wooden skin and avoiding bringing attention to the chips in his face. It was tedious, but easy enough to fall into a rhythm.

“I’m trying to run an evil syndicate here and everyone is constantly screwing it up! First those money grubbing Horrors run off to try and restart their theme park out west, then the Jack O’Lanterns decide it was a good idea to try and order human when we went out to eat?” He was gesturing a lot as he spoke and you had to be careful not to take a wooden hand to the face.

“They’re not very good at serving man. Get it, To Serve Man?”

“It’s like I’m the only competent one in this house. I understand the gnomes are a hivemind, but what’s that halfwit executioners excuse?”

“He doesn’t have one, boss.”

“Exactly! I do everything around here and those ingrates just fight each other and ruin it.” He huffed and leaned back against your hand, “And I swear if that werewolf tries to use me as a chew toy one more time I’m getting him fixed.”

“I’ll call the vet.”

“And you.” He laughed mockingly, “Always screwing up and quitting when it actually gets hard. If I didn’t use your bank account you’d be about as useful as the rest of them. As it is your only redeeming characteristic is the fact that you at least try to obey.”

“That’s kind of in my job description” You sigh.

“Ugh, don’t breathe on me. That’s the problem with you humans, always leaking moisture everywhere.” He jumped down from your lap, checking himself for appropriate shininess in the full length mirror on your door. “At least you did a decent job just now. I have more things to do and so do you.” From his pocket he fished out a folded up piece of paper.

You opened it and grimaced. It was a list half way to Canada and would keep you up late if he wanted you to complete it before tomorrow’s date with Stine, “All of this tonight, boss?”

“No, dummy,” He snapped, not bothering to look away from himself, “I want you to do it next Christmas. Of course I mean tonight.”

You closed up the container of wood polish and stood up stretching, “I’m on it, boss.”

“And try not to screw up for once.”

You tried, you really did. It was herding cats trying to corral all the monsters into working together, but you did your best. You managed to find a car wash open late. You brushed Cuddles the Hamster so he wouldn’t shed all over everyone. You did a thousand and one things to make sure everything would work out for the best.

Still, some of these orders would have required you to be in two places at once. Sure you could always get Dr. Brewer to cook up a plant clone for you to increase productivity, but you weren’t stupid. You saw “Dopplegangland”. So you were just stuck failing sometimes.

Later that night you were outside your boss’ door. You were preparing an explanation of why you simply hadn’t been able to find a puppet fedora for him and maybe he could wear his police sergeant's hat, he always looked snazzy in that.

Before you could knock on the door, and after he threw that desk lamp at you when you came in unannounced and he was feeling angry you always knocked, you noticed you could hear grumbling from inside the room.

The voice of Slappy was recognizable enough, but you couldn’t tell what he was saying. He sounded extremely frustrated, though, even more so than usual. And frustrated was the norm for him.

Against your better instincts, your curiosity won out.

“Sir, are you okay?” You cracked the door and peeked into the room to see something that was definitely not okay.

Slappy was sitting in his chair, arms twisted behind himself as he tried to fiddle with his own inner ventriloquism workings. Despite the fact that he didn’t have to breathe he was panting loudly. It was at that moment he realized you were there and you realized a wooden puppet could look embarrassed

“Didn’t you ever learn how to knock?” Slappy screeched as he hurriedly pulled his hands from his back.

What did you just walk in on? “I heard you and thought there was a problem!”

“The problem is you coming in here and ruining everything as usual!” He was even angrier than usual. If you didn’t do something soon he was probably going to take out his frustration on you. Or worse, on your stuff.

“Look, I’m sorry for interrupting your,” How were you going to phrase it? “Personal time.”

“Well you did, you clod!” He snapped, “Ugh, so what did you barge in here about?”

“I wanted to tell you that I got about 95% of the stuff on the list done, but some of that stuff seemed impossible?” How were you supposed to explain yourself when you had just walked in on the weird scene in Seed of Chucky?

“So you came and ruined my night to tell me what a huge failure you are? I’m not even surprised, you manage to disappoint with every turn. Tell me, what part tripped you up? Was it washing a car? Or maybe just breathing and walking at the same time is too complicated for you.” Slappy was laughing in your face, because nothing cheered him up quite like insulting you.

You shrug, “Boss, you had me color coordinating the gnomes to go with you tie during the same stretch of time I was supposed to be blow-drying the werewolves. I don’t really get how I was supposed to do that.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re completely incompetent.” He rolled his eyes, “No surprise there.”

You close your eyes and breath deeply. It would probably be smart just to let him insult you until he got bored. There didn’t seem to be any risk of him trying to put a desk lamp through the television.

“Why don’t you come over here and make yourself useful?”

What?

“What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” He gestured for you to approach.

For the second time that day you end up as the human throne for Slappy, this time getting to sit in the fancy wingback chair. This time was a lot weirder and you had to remind yourself you were a grown woman capable of making her own decisions, including heavy petting with a ventriloquist dummy.

You were still unsure on how to proceed. “So, like, now what?”

“Do you really need me to explain this to you?” You thought the disdain in his voice was to cover up embarrassment, but you couldn’t be sure.

“Pssh, no!” No way, you could totally handle this.

Thinking back to what you walked in on you caress the slit in the back of Slappy’s suit jacket. He didn’t reach back to slap you so you took it as a good sign. With all the fisting skills you had accrued in your life you slip your fingers inside him. It was different, strictly because there was a lot less warm wetness and a lot more cloth and strings. It seemed to be about the same for Slappy though, given that he sighed and didn’t call you a total fuckup.

Invigorated by the decent reception your were getting, you took some initiative and started feeling around for the various levers and strings that controlled his face.

“I guess you can do something right.” Why, that even bordered on a compliment! He looked over his shoulder to give you a judgmental look, “Rule of odds said you couldn’t be terrible at everything.” It was nice while it lasted.

Unperturbed by the mild insult you got right to work figuring out what did what, catching string and tugging so his jaw clicked.

Describing the noises going on throughout all this would be difficult. Slappy didn’t breath, but he could talk. The rustling fabric sounds could be taken for moans and the odd wood on wood clunking for grunts.

“You should consider yourself lucky you’re getting this chance, I’m still considering just using you as bait.” The insults, however, could only be taken as insults, “Not that you’d be any good at that either. No one in their right mind would rescue you.”

Sure of the knowledge that the police were mandated to rescue you if you were being held hostage, you continued to get better acquainted with the inside of you ventriloquist dummy master. You were getting a handle on his internal handles, it was likely the way his eyebrows were raising was not strictly voluntary.

“No surprise this is the only thing you’re good for. You really are all looks and no brains. That’s not saying much for your looks either.”

Wrist deep in your boss was not a time to be lying to yourself, so you would be honest. This was kind of hot. Maybe it was the role reversal of finally being the puppetmaster in the relationship. Maybe it was the way that despite the insults headed your way were broken up by suspicious gasping noises. Maybe you were just a fetishist. No matter the explanation, this was still doing something to you.

It was doing something to Slappy, too, because his insults were getting less and less coherent. It was all telling you to “Get a grip, slave! Get it?” and “It’s a good thing I’m was facing away from you, having to see you would ruin it!” Plus he was gripping your knee so hard you were going to have to put makeup on them to cover the bruises.

Your knees weren’t the only things getting bruised when the limb-strings twisted around your hand went taut. You’d be surprised if they didn’t draw blood. In fact, Slappy’s entire body went taut, sitting up straight and jaw slamming shut. There was a concerning wood on wood grinding noise from somewhere inside of him. Then he went limp, collapsing against your arm.

“Um, boss?” You asked, hopeful that what you just witness was an orgasm equivalent and not Slappy transcending into a higher plain of existence sheerly out of hate. “You okay.”

It took a moment for Slappy to come back to his senses. When he did he was surprisingly docile. “I’m fine, slave.” He leaned back against your chest and with the content look on his face the moment was almost tender. “That was better than I expected from you.”

If it weren’t for the position you were in you would have jumped for joy. That was the closest he had ever gotten to complimenting you! “Thank you!”

It only just seemed to occur to Slappy that he said something nearly nice. He shoved himself off your lap so hard he stumbled. Turning to you he gave you the most unimpressed look imaginable. “Well, I guess I’m not going to fire you tonight, but there’s always tomorrow. Go make yourself useful somewhere.”

Well, it was nice while it lasted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now with even more mean hand-jobs.

There were henchmen villains kept around as hired muscle and then there were henchmen kept around as eye-candy. An argument could be made that it was kind of sexist to pay someone to stand around and make villains look virile to whomever they were trying to intimidate.

As main lackey to the big monster boss himself, you did spend a lot of time dressed in skimpy clothes posing in the background while Slappy threatened to break R.L. Stine’s kneecaps, but you spent even more time doing menial labor. You were usually eavesdropping on murderers and stitching tiny puppet jackets, totally busy. Actually you liked it better the other way, when you were just tasked with dressing trash-ily and functioning as an obscene throne. At least you had experience doing that.

It just so happened that it was one of those days were all you had to do was be pretty, so you were having a great time.

You were dressed to impress, or at least to gather some stares. A skirt so short it passed as a belt and a billowy shirt that looked like you stole it from a vegas magician’s assistant. You were teetering in your highheels by the time you were trying to convince everyone to head over to Stine’s house in an orderly fashion, it was a good thing that most of them were willing to listen to your orders on the basis that they trusted Slappy to have the meanest plan of all. You only had to deal with those rude clowns making hand gestures at you as they passed. Clarissa the Witch was standing next to you, or rather you were standing next to her staring at her amazing hair and she hadn’t told you to take a hike, and her cool glare had them leaving you alone.

It was a going pretty well, in your humble opinion.

Your air of cheerfulness was cut short when you heard a shout that was going to follow you to your grave at the rate things were going.

“Slave, get in here!” And there Slappy was, hanging halfway out the window of the haunted car and motioning for you to hurry up, “You’re making us late!”

“On my way!” You shouted as you sent one last longing look over your shoulder at the Elvira knock-off of you dreams. You had to hurry, Slappy would happily leave you stranded for laughs, he would do worse if you were actually holding him up. You made it in the knick of time, throwing yourself into the passenger seat.

Yes, you sat in the passenger seat. It was pretty stupid when you considered the fact that you were the only one in the car with a licence and the one in the driver’s seat, Slappy, had to sit on several dictionaries to see over the steering wheel. Obviously he couldn’t reach the pedals. Sure, the car was haunted by the ghost of some dead girl who did most of the actual driving, but what if a cop pulled you all over? The ghost girl wasn’t even old enough to have a licence!

“I know you only have one thing going for you and it’s not your brain,” Slappy leered at your exposed skin in a way that left you feeling slimy, “But try to use it and stick to the plan for once.”

That was pretty slut shame-y from the ventriloquist dummy having you dress up like a showgirl to imply he was more of a man than R.L. Stine. “I’ll do my best.”

“Remember, numbskull, what are you supposed to do when I need to make eye contact with Stine?”

“Get on my hands and knees so you can use me as a stepstool.” You replied and hoped that his wooden shoes wouldn’t give you even more bruises.

“So you can listen after all. Maybe if you keep it up I might let you drive.” Slappy reached over from where he was unnecessarily gripping the steering wheel to pat your knee. Then he slapped in so hard it left a red mark, “Not!”

It was probably the fact that your knee was throbbing, otherwise you would have let it go. However, unexpected pain made you say unexpected things. “You were letting me drive last night.”

It was a good thing Slappy was not actually driving, because you two would have flipped into a ditch the way the twisted that wheel. “What!”

Oh no, he had the angry eyebrows on! Well, let it never be said that you didn’t finish what you start. You caress the wheel like it’s a Decepticon you’re trying to convince to spare your life, “Vroom vroom.”

Given how limited his range of facial motions were, it was kind of impressive just how personally insulted Slappy looked. “I’m the one in the driver’s seat here, slave! You do what I say!”

“If you say so, boss.” You replied in a tone that implied just the opposite.

“I do say so!” He snarled, finally letting go of the wheel completely. You were both safer that way. “You’re not worth the clothes you’re wearing, don’t think I won’t find a new you if you outlive your usefulness. Not that you have much of that in the first place.”

Well that was harsh.

“I’m going to be running this town soon,” He was transitioning from angry to smug, “I can get someone who looks like their not wearing a cheap Halloween costume to stand there and look pretty.”

“I know, boss.” What you knew was that you looked damn fine in a halloween costume.

“Good, don’t forget it.” He shifted away from you again, looking out the windshield.

“Consider it memorized.” You assured.

The pair of you sat in silence as the car drove itself through the backroads around the town. It was almost peaceful until, “Frankly, I don’t see what the big deal is about how you humans look. You’re all so moist and squishy, it’s disgusting.”

“We can’t really help that, boss.”

“Well you should work harder at it, I’m sure you could stop being so completely terrible if you tried. Maybe if you stopped that whole breathing thing.” He was examining you out of the corner of his eye, carefully critiquing.

“I’m pretty sure that would kill me.” Maybe if you got someone to turn you into a vampire that could work. Or a robot.

“That’s the point.” Slappy probably intentionally had the most grating laugh ever. Then he decided to cross yet another line in criticizing you. One wooden hand reached out and grabbed a handful of tit, “What even is the point of these?”

Okay, getting felt up by a ventriloquist dummy was a weird sensation. Wooden hands couldn’t really change shape all that well and were uncomfortable cold. It was like trying to make a bra out of a plastic mold, you breast getting shoved into a shape it didn’t belong in. “Lactation, technically.”

“So another way you can secrete gross fluids.” His tone was disdainful, but his hand was still firmly cupping your cleavage, “I should have known.”

“You know everything,” You replied. Truthfully you were distracted by how cold his hand was, it had your nipples working like pop up thermometers. That was the only explanation for why the could now be seen through your shirt, or at least the only one you would admit.

“There just so soft, someone could punch you and lose a hand in those things.” Speaking of hands, there went his other one, right onto your other breast. “I guess you couldn’t use them as air bags, the rest of you is full of hot air, anyway.”

It was definitely so cold in the car. Like, so cold. That was the only reason you had, ha ha, goosebumps.

“Wow,” He laughed at your unfortunately red face, “You really are pathetic. You’re enjoying this.”

It was one of those moments when you had to be brutally honest with yourself. You were kind of getting of to this. It wasn’t you’re fault you were a sucker for being insulted. It’s not like you stuck around this job for the dental plan. You enjoyed getting creatively insulted. There was just something about being verbally picked apart and derided that made you shiver.

“It’s ‘kay.” You shrugged.

“Just ‘Kay’?” He asked mockingly. He cupped your chest and made eye contact with you nipples, “I could use these things as emergency glass cutters.”

“They’re just nipples.” You point out. There’s only so much to them.

Slappy stared you down, then unhesitatingly shoved one hand up your skirt, bypassing your panties entirely. “Your gross human genitals agree with me.”

That they did. You were soaked as a pool, but with a better pH balance. Still, if tiny wooden dummy hands felt freaky on your boobs they felt downright petrifying on your junk. The fingers didn’t really bend and it was a bit like someone grinding a weird dildo against you. At least Slappy’s hand had warmed to room temperature.

Is he going to spend this entire thing insulting your vag? Probably.“You seem pretty ready to grope something you think is so gross.”

“I’m just curious to see what it feels like to have my hand inside someone else for a change.” Didn’t he just have a vaguely offensive answer for everything. Hopefully that didn’t imply he planned on fisting you in a moving car. “Or I would if I didn’t mind getting your dirty fluids on my cuffs.”

Rude. Your fluids are totally clean, you’ve been tested!

There was little time to focus on the fact the Slappy kept imply you were just rife with STDs, because he wasn’t fooling around anymore. Pushing aside your panties he pressed unmoving wooden fingers into you.

You were correct in comparing the feeling to a dildo earlier. It felt nothing at all like a flesh and blood appendage, unchanging as you clenched around it. You had never used a wooden dildo before, but varnished texture gave no help to lubrication, On the positive, the fact that it was a hand meant there was a thumb on the outside pressing against your clit. “So I’m the dummy now?”

“You always are.” He laughed as he noticed you were tilting your hips to meet his hand, “You can’t function without someone around to give you orders.”

That was not a false accusation.

It was a kind of screwed up situation all around. The orders you got from Slappy were destructive towards you and humanity at large, but you carried them out gladly. You got off to getting bossed around anyway, but this was different. It made you feel so alive, like you were actually doing something that mattered for once in you life. You got to be part of something bigger than yourself, getting to help take over the world. As for Slappy, he got someone willing to bend to his every command and debase themselves for his amusement. And you surely were debased right now.

It wasn’t the best you’d ever had, but Slappy’s hand was grinding against you well enough. Warm pleasure made you shiver as he moved against you on a regular beat. The smug, insulting way he continued to berate you only made it better.

“You’re so pathetic, I should have realised how desperate you are from the moment you asked to serve me. You know you don’t do anything right, getting to work for someone who’s actually successful must be a first for you.”

“First time for everything!” It was hard not to be positive when you were in the middle of getting off.

“It’s the first time I’ve had a slave so pathetic they aren’t even worth wasting my time insulting. Everyone can see you’re terrible.”

“Haha, true.” You’d gladly agree with anything just for the friction. There was something wonderfully harsh about being fingered by someone who deeply and truly thought you were terrible just for being a human being.

It was all so objectively awful and exciting. Here you were driving through the suburbs being fingerbanged and insulted by a possessed ventriloquist dummy. It was nothing made sense anymore, but you were loving it. It was like something out of a book, probably because he was from one. Except more of a kindle e-rotica. You wanted to laugh, but it came out as a giggly moan.

“What did I say about your disgusting fluids. You’re getting them everywhere and I’m going to be upset if you ruin my car’s upholstery.”

You’re not sure what he expected, sexual situations were generally pretty moist and he was the one trying to play puppet master with your junk. You just made an agreeable noise and nodded a lot.

Then, cruel fate, he stopped. “About time we got here. That was getting boring.”

What?

“What?”

“We’re at Stine’s, slave.” He replied as the car rolled to a stop.

Giving you nothing more than a smug smirk and jumped out of the car door as it popped open. When you didn’t immediately follow he glared at you, “Are you coming, slave?”

“Well I was.”


End file.
